


(Cut Clean from) The Dream at Night

by ShowMeAHero



Series: The Newborn Influence Affair [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family, Fluff, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5268974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon leaned in the doorway and watched as Illya paced back and forth, head bent over the cradle of his arms. Napoleon thought about clearing his throat and bringing Illya’s attention to him, but he felt like watching for a bit longer. Illya was muttering under his breath, soft, careful words, and Napoleon let himself smile in the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Cut Clean from) The Dream at Night

**Author's Note:**

> There's literally no kid fic for this fandom and next to no domestic fic. I just needed a little something. Just something small. A baby something. Please. I just need them to have a baby.
> 
> Title taken from ["Jackie and Wilson" by Hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSWqxbswQAY).

Napoleon blinked awake, staring fuzzily into the darkness for a few moments before he dragged the clock closer to his face. Upon reading an unholy early hour, he set the clock back on his nightstand and sat up. He rubbed at his face and turned to look at the space beside him in bed, which was empty. With a sigh, he hauled the covers back and heaved himself to his feet. He grabbed a robe and slid his arms into it as he made his slow way out of the bedroom, yawning. His bare chest was chilly, legs cold under his boxers, and he pulled the robe a little tighter around himself.

He made his way to the room at the end of the hall, a dim lamplight sneaking out onto the hallway floor. He leaned in the doorway and watched as Illya paced back and forth, head bent over the cradle of his arms. Napoleon thought about clearing his throat and bringing Illya’s attention to him, but he felt like watching for a bit longer. Illya was muttering under his breath, soft, careful words, and Napoleon let himself smile in the darkness. Illya was in his pajama pants, the baby’s head pressed over his heartbeat like they had learned about from the books Gaby made them read. The dichotomy between their sizes always made Napoleon feel both amused and warm, deep in his chest.

“So,” Napoleon finally started, and Illya’s head shot up. “Ellie having trouble sleeping?”

“Little bit,” Illya answered. He turned, and Napoleon pushed away from the door jamb to approach him. He stroked the pad of his thumb over their daughter’s cheek, and she blinked tired blue eyes up at them. Her thick black hair curled against his wrist, tickling his skin. He looked up at Illya, who tore his attention away from Ella to focus on Napoleon. “She will sleep soon.”

“I’m sure she will,” Napoleon agreed, thumbing down her soft jaw to her tiny chin. He released her and stuck his hands in the pockets of his robe. He watched as she yawned, her small mouth forming a petite _o_ -shape. Her little eyes fluttered closed. The thin lavender skin of her eyelids flickered. Napoleon glanced up at Illya. “Time for bed?”

“ _Da._ ” Illya moved gingerly, settling Ella back in her crib. His massive hands were larger than her head, and one of them cupped the back of her head in its palm as he placed her down. She stretched her hands above her head and wriggled into a comfortable position, eyes still closed. Illya pulled her blanket up over her and stepped back. He hesitated, hovering over the crib, watching her still. Napoleon sidled up to the empty space next to him and joined him in watching her as she slipped into a deeper sleep. Illya’s hand lifted, then settled on Napoleon’s right shoulder, near his throat. His thumb stroked up the column of his neck, then down, softly. It felt fitting in the darkness.

“No regrets yet?” Napoleon asked quietly, Ella did not stir.

“ _Nyet,_ ” Illya answered. “You?”

“Nothing yet,” Napoleon said, glancing up at him. Illya’s thumb caught on his earlobe, then moved to press into the sensitive spot behind his ear. “But I will keep you posted.”

“Smartass,” Illya commented, hushed. He used his grip to turn Napoleon towards the door, and the two of them left the nursery, Illya flicking off the lamplight as they went. He pulled the door shut behind him slowly, gingerly, until it slid home with a nearly-inaudible _click_. Napoleon led the way back to their bedroom and into bed. He draped his robe over the back of the desk chair and crept into bed beside Illya, who had propped himself on his side on one elbow, chin in his palm.

“Why, hello, there,” Napoleon said, pulling the covers up over them both, the comforter hem tickling the skin of his shoulder. He reached up to stroke lightly over Illya’s lips. Illya let his free hand start at the curve of Napoleon’s collarbone, then trace down, fingers brushing lightly over a starburst of a bullet scar.

“Hello,” Illya answered gruffly, tone gentle. Napoleon leaned in, leaving a breath between the two of them, and Illya moved the last centimeter to close the distance, sliding his mouth into place against Napoleon’s. He shifted, tipping his face, and Napoleon took advantage of their new position to bite at Illya’s lower lip. Illya groaned and let his mouth fall open. Napoleon shuffled closer, cupping Illya’s face in his hand and bringing him nearer until they were pressed, chest-to-knee, in the middle of the bed.

“We have early morning,” Illya reminded him as Napoleon bit at the knob of his jaw, dragging his teeth down his jawline. He sighed against Illya’s skin and pulled back.

“You’re right,” Napoleon murmured. He pressed one last kiss to the corner of Illya’s mouth, then a second last kiss closer to the full line, Illya crushing against him. Napoleon picked up his rhythm again, kissing him harder and faster, hips rolling up into Illya’s, and Illya moaned into his mouth before dragging his head back.

“Early morning,” Illya repeated, and Napoleon groaned, falling onto his back in the bed, skin flushed red and hot. Illya laid down on his own back, stretching his arm out across their pillows, and Napoleon shifted closer instinctively, moving naturally, without thinking, after a couple years of doing it. He rested his head on Illya’s chest and yawned.

“Where do you think Waverly and Gaby are going to send us this time?”  Napoleon asked, shutting his eyes. He rested one hand on Illya’s chest, fingertips pressing into the beat of his heart. Illya’s arm curled around him, thumb brushing at his upper arm.

“Hell,” Illya answered thoughtfully, and Napoleon snorted a laugh.

“That answer is always right,” Napoleon said. “You’re a cheater.”

“Takes one to know one,” Illya replied. He paused. “Maybe they send us to Russia.”

“Maybe they’ll send us somewhere else,” Napoleon said hopefully. “You know, somewhere nice, where we _won’t_ die.”

“I survive Russia.” Illya closed his own eyes, thumb still tracing light circles in Napoleon’s arm. “You, maybe.”

“Ha, ha,” Napoleon said dryly. “We’ll go somewhere nice. Italy, maybe. France.”

“We live,” Illya said, “regardless. Come home to Ellie.”

“Absolutely,” Napoleon said, yawning again, voice already starting to sound far away as he slipped into sleep. A cry from down the hall snapped his eyes open, and he groaned loudly.

“I’ll be right back,” he grumbled, hauling himself out of bed and down the hall. He returned moments later with Ella sniffling into his chest. He climbed back into bed and settled her against Illya’s chest. She quieted almost at once. Napoleon settled one hand over her stomach and wriggled his way back into the same spot he had just vacated. Illya rested left hand over Napoleon’s, the right arm weaving its way behind him again.

“Goodnight,” Napoleon murmured tiredly, forehead pressed against Ella’s.

“ _Dobroy nochi,_ ” Illya said quietly back. The corner of Napoleon’s mouth twitched up into a smile as he fell back asleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ella is, of course, named for Gaby (Gabriella).
> 
> Probably not super necessary, but the Russian-to-English translations are as follows:  
> Da = Yes  
> Nyet = No  
> Dobroy nochi = Goodnight
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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